


Unsung Voices

by timeladyofletters



Series: Unsung [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Death, F/M, Fluff, Love Triangle, Near Suicide, No cheating, Suicidal Thoughts, no actual suicide though, no poly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-07-25 13:02:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7533754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeladyofletters/pseuds/timeladyofletters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reader has been on the run, alone and afraid, for ten long years. Just when she's about to end her own misery, she meets two very different men who may be able to show her a life worth living. A slight AU where ghosts can’t be seen by everyone, they can only be seen by and communicate with the person who is in possession of the object they’re tethered to. Takes place after season 5 (details of which have been changed to fit this story) and goes off on its own path from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Where One Goes](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/214345) by B.N. Toler. 



> I know…love triangles are the worst. But this one’s a little different. All credit to the author of the book this fic is based on!!! Also, I highly recommend the original book (linked above) for readers who love sappy romance!

**\- January 1st -**

The reflection of fireworks in all colors and sizes could be seen in your rear view mirror, just as the clock on your dashboard struck midnight.

“Happy new year,” you murmured unceremoniously to yourself as you pressed harder on the gas pedal, anxious to get to a hotel in order to hide yourself away from the rest of the world.

A new year meant new beginnings. It meant new opportunities and people and a chance to start fresh. At least, that’s what it meant for everyone else. You, on the other hand, had been stuck in the same repetitive cycle since you were 17 years old.  An endless loop of running, hiding, and fear. There was no such thing as a new beginning, not anymore.

Your parents were hunters, damn good ones too, if the tales were to be believed. And yet, they weren’t good enough to defeat the monster that defeated them. They weren’t good enough to protect you from the same monster when it set its sights on you. Instead they died, leaving you alone and defenseless, doomed to a pitiful nomadic existence with nothing but the hunter tricks they taught you long ago and a small stash of weapons. From the second the monster that killed your parents got a whiff of you, it was obsessed. It wanted nothing more than to have you; for what, you didn’t know. So you ran, and the monster never gave up the chase. That’s how you spent every moment since you were orphaned 10 years ago - running for your life from a stalker hell bent on having you for unknown, sinister purposes.

Until one day you couldn’t take it anymore. You were sick and tired of just merely surviving. Survival didn’t mean freedom, and you needed to be free of the life you had been thrust into, no matter the cost. That was the thought that kept replaying in your mind as you pulled into a shady motel at the edge of whatever town you had just arrived in on the first day of that year. There was no point in learning names and places anymore, you weren’t going to be around much longer anyways.

In your hotel room, you took some time to prepare yourself. You had long ago resigned yourself to the fact that your life would end tragically, but you were determined to end it on your own terms, by your own hand. You didn’t want to leave a mess behind, you didn’t want to leave anything behind at all. And so you decided that the bridge you passed a half hour ago, the one that stretched over deep, frigid water, would be your final destination before the end. Sitting on the bed, you searched your mind for a reason to back out, for a reason to live, but you came up empty. You had no family, no friends, no home. The monster had seen to that. All that was left was a vast, suffocating darkness that you didn’t dare venture into anymore. Your mind was set, there was no turning back.

Before leaving the motel, you threw on your favorite hoodie and stuffed your hands in the pockets, immediately discovering that something small and unfamiliar was nestled in there. Confused, you curled your fingers around the cold, metallic object, and pulled it out for inspection. It was a necklace of some sort - a heavy, tribal looking amulet hanging from a black cord. It looked old and weathered, as if it had experienced a lot in its existence. You had never seen it before in your life, and couldn't fathom how it wound up in your possession, yet something about it gave you an odd sense of comfort. As if you weren’t going to be alone in your last moments. A peaceful warmth settled into your chest and you allowed it to lull you for a minute, until you finally snapped yourself out of whatever daydream you had slipped into. Determined not to waste anymore time, you placed the amulet back into your pocket, pulled the hood onto your head, and made your way to the bridge.


	2. Chapter 2

It had begun to snow ever so slightly, the cold seeping through the material of your sweater and into your bones. You had been standing at the railing of the bridge for five minutes now, unable to look away from the black crash and pull of the waves far beneath you. Soon, it would consume you and make you its own. You wondered which would end you quicker - the shock from the cold when your body pierced the water, or the loss of air when you finally got dragged under the surface. You were scared, terrified even, but it wasn’t much different than trying to live everyday not knowing if the monster that thirsted for your blood had finally caught up to you.

You looked to the sky, snowflakes dusting the tips of your lashes, and said a silent prayer to whoever was listening. You begged for your pain to be over soon, and asked for the strength to take the final three steps over the edge. Without even realizing it, your fingers had been toying with the mysterious amulet the entire time, never allowing it to stray from your touch. With a deep breath you turned your gaze back to the water, and for some reason, you pulled the necklace over your head; the cord settling around your neck and the heavy pendant resting low on your chest. The warmth was back again, a dull, subtle heat spreading throughout your body from the point of contact between the amulet and your skin through the hoodie you wore. You didn’t bother to question the sensation; it didn’t matter anyways.

And so, you squared your shoulders, placed one foot up onto the railing, closed your eyes, and then-

“Hey! You really don’t wanna do that!” A loud, masculine voice cut through the cold silence of the night.

Without bothering to open your eyes, you let out an exasperated sigh and replied, “This is none of your business, just go away.”

“Sorry sweetheart but- wait, you can hear me?”

The odd question and the genuine surprise in the man’s voice tempted your curiosity. Against your better judgement, you allowed yourself to look in his direction. The man before you was handsome, strikingly so. Tall with a fit build, plump lips, a dusting of freckles, and green eyes that seemed to gaze straight to the very depths of your soul. Eyes which were, at the moment, widened with shock.

“You...you can _see_ me?” he asked quietly, his voice just above a whisper.

You furrowed your brows together in confusion. “Uh, yeah. Of course I can see you. Why wouldn’t I be able to?” 

The man seemed at a loss for words, unable to explain himself. That’s when you allowed yourself to look even closer at him. Under the orange light of the streetlamp he seemed to be just a normal, regular person; vivid, solid, and real. But it took a trained eye to notice the blurred edges of his form, and when he made the slightest involuntary flicker, you understood.

“Oh no, are you tethered to this thing?” you exclaimed, gesturing to the amulet around your neck. The man stared at the pendant, taken aback by its presence, as you continued to speak. “Look, I’d love to give you the whole ‘ghosts are real and you’re one of them’ speech, but I have something I have to get to. So if you don’t mind-”

“Stop!” he yelled, rushing towards you with his arms stretched out, as if he could physically stop you. “Don’t jump, just...hang on, you know about ghosts? Are you a hunter?”

His question caught you off guard. This night was just full of surprises, wasn’t it? “My parents were hunters,” you told him after a few moments of deliberating. “Are _you_?”

The man let out a breathy, humorless chuckle. Despite his situation, you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes crinkled as he smiled a somber smile. “I used to be...before, well, you know,” he shrugged as his form give a slight flicker again, the tell-tale sign of a ghost. 

“Oh, right. Sorry,” you mumbled just before a heavy, awkward silence rolled in.

“Dean Winchester.”

“What?” you asked, rubbing your hands over your arms in an attempt to keep warm.

“My name, its Dean Winchester. And yours is...?”

You considered not answering him at all. You knew what he was doing, trying to small talk you off the ledge you were teetering on. But something about this ghost, this stranger, was hard to ignore. “I’m Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Y/N,” Dean repeated your name slowly; testing it out on his tongue and nodding as if he approved, as if the name fit the woman before him. “So what’s a girl like you doing on a bridge like this?” 

A small smile played on his lips, as if he were trying not to laugh as his own lame line. You just rolled your eyes. "Look Y/N, I get that life is messy, and sometimes it downright sucks. But take it from someone who’s already there, death ain’t any better.”

“You know nothing about my life,” you spat bitterly, struggling to keep the slowly brewing tears at bay.

“Maybe not, but I’m here to listen if you need someone to talk to.” Dean made a show of looking around at your otherwise deserted surroundings. “Not like I have anywhere else to be.”

Genuine concern was written across his handsome face, and it struck something long buried deep inside of you. This strange man who you had never met before, who clearly had his own problems to deal with, was doing the best he could with what little he had to keep you alive. And somehow, it was working.


	3. Chapter 3

“So you’ve been on your own for ten years? Running from a crazy stalker monster?” Dean asked once you were finished telling him your woeful life story, an hour after you left the bridge.

You ran a dry towel through your hair, wringing out the water from the hot shower you just took. When you got back to your motel room, new ghost friend in tow, Dean had asked for you to keep his amulet around your neck, even in the shower. Of course a red flag went up in your brain, and you were ready to deny his creepy request; but he assured you that he wouldn’t dare intrude on your privacy. “Maybe if I was alive and you weren’t the only person in the world I could talk to, then sure, I’d sneak a peek,” he had joked with a wink. “But seriously, Y/N, I haven’t interacted with anyone for months. You don’t have to talk to me from in the bathroom, but I guess I just like knowing that you could if you wanted to.” When you gave him a wary look, mentally weighing your options, he followed up with, “My intentions are completely honorable. I swear on my life.” The cheeky smile he wore then was too much to resist. Your gut told you that he was telling the truth, so you kept the necklace on, and even began telling your tale from the other side of the bathroom door.

“Yeah, that about sums it up,” you replied when you finally got out, steam trailing behind you. You were met with the sight of Dean lounging on your bed, and asked, “Hey, how can you lay on the bed like that? Shouldn’t you go through it or something?”

Dean sat up, brushing down a non-existent wrinkle from his shirt, and gave you a shrug. “No clue. I can’t feel the bed, or anything really, but I could sense that its there. To be honest, this ghost mojo crap is still a huge question mark to me.”

“Speaking of which,” you said, tentatively, “do you mind if I asked how-”

“How I bit the big one?” Dean finished for you. You simply nodded in return, and perched yourself on the foot of the bed.

“Cliff notes? Stopped the Apocalypse, saved the world. Didn’t go well for me,” he said nonchalantly, like it was no big deal.

“So that was you? I heard rumors about the Apocalypse and Lucifer popping out of hell like a jack-in-the-box.”

“Yeah, that was us.” There was a hint of something else in his voice, not quite irritation, but something more like disappointment. Disappointment in who, you couldn’t say for sure; but you would bet everything you had that under the cocky exterior, this man carried around a lot of self-hate.

“But why are you still here?” you pressed forward. “Shouldn’t you be in heaven or wherever souls go? You’re a hunter - aren’t hunters anti-ghost?”

“I can’t leave. Not yet.”

“Unfinished business?”

“You could say that.”

“A girl?”

Dean let out a laugh, a real, genuine laugh that lit up his eyes and shook his entire body. “I wish. No, its my pain in the ass little brother. He kind of went of the rails when I died. I’ve been watching him for months and he’s...he’s not doing too good.”

“You two must have been close,” you sighed, trying to remember what it felt like to care for someone in that way.

“Yeah. We were all the family we had left. Now its just him. He’s still got friends; good ones who are trying to look out for him, but he cut everyone out and just took off. Stopped hunting. He’s not himself anymore.” That sad, distant look was back, clouding Dean’s features.You regretted your questions instantly, wishing that you could rewind to his laughter a mere minute ago.

“I’m sorry dean,” you said, words being the only form of comfort you could offer. “It must be hard to watch without being able to do anything.”

As Dean nodded in agreement, something seemed to spark in his eyes. He stared at you, and you were sure that you had just witnessed the proverbial light-bulb moment. “What if I could do something? Well, not me exactly, but what if I had help?” he asked slowly.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I think we could help each other, you and me. Just hear me out,” he exclaimed before you could protest. “Sam, my brother, he needs someone to knock some sense into his thick skull. And you need a hunter, a _good_ hunter, to help you get this monster off your back.”

“What are you saying exactly?” you urged for him to get to the point.

“I’m saying you should go to my brother, ask him for help, and help him get back on his feet in return.”

You blinked at him, allowing the words to make sense in your brain, and when what he said hit you, you couldn’t help the sarcastic laugh that escaped your lips. “Ha! Yeah right. You know, you’re pretty funny for a dead guy, Dean.”

Dean scooted closer to you. “I’m serious, it could work.”

“How the hell am I supposed to help a total stranger get his life back on track?” you asked loudly, throwing you hands up in the air in frustration. “I can barely keep my own life together as it is, hence the bridge!”

“I’ll help you the whole time. It’ll be like passing notes in class except the teacher can’t catch us because I’m invisible,” Dean explained, as if it were that easy. “Look, I’ll tell you what to say and how to act around Sam. It’ll be a piece of cake.”

Needing space, you sprung from the bed, and then began to pace back and forth along the length of the room. “Why don’t I just get this amulet thing to him so you could talk to him yourself?” you proposed, fiddling with the necklace.

“Because it doesn’t work that way,” Dean sighed. “You’re the first person to own the amulet since my soul got stuck to it, so I can only be seen and heard by you. And Sammy wouldn’t want to see me anyways. I hear him, after he drinks to much. He’s mad at me for...for dying.”

“Dean...”

“Y/N, its a lot to ask, I know that; but I have no one else to turn to,” Dean stood in front of you with his palms out, like he would have placed his hands on your shoulders if he could. His voice was low and rough, more so than it had been in the hours that you’ve known him; but there was a glimmer of hope in his green eyes. “I’ve been trapped here on Earth for too long, I can already feel myself changing into something stronger, angrier. If this goes on I’ll turn into a vengeful spirit and there’ll be no going back for me. I think this is the only way for me to move on, by helping Sam. I can only do that through you. And maybe, I don't know, maybe I can help you out as well. So you don’t end up like me.”

You inhaled a deep breath, and let it out, long and slow. A part of you wanted to chuck the damn amulet into a trashcan and run out of there as fast as you could. But a bigger part of you wouldn't let that happen. You finally had a friend who couldn't get hurt just for being around you, and he needed your help. It wasn't a tough decision to make. “You just don’t know how to quit do you?” You peered up at Dean, and spied a sly smile forming on his lips.

“Well I am a WIN _-_ chester,” he exaggerated. “Quitting isn’t in our genes.”

You rolled your eyes again, thinking that it would soon become your signature move around this guy. “Maybe that should be my opening line with your brother,” you said. Dean’s whole form changed from rigid to relaxed, as if a huge weight was being lifted off of him. “I’m not saying it’ll work, but we could give it a shot.”

Dean flashed you a huge grin, deepening the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “That’s all I needed to hear, Y/N.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**\- January 3rd -**

A few days later, you were driving into the small Connecticut town that Dean had directed you to. You were getting close, real close, to where Sam Winchester was; and you were nervous as hell. How could this plan possibly work? How were you, a mess of a human being, supposed to save another person from self destructing?

“Hellooo, ground control to Y/N?” Dean called loudly in your ear, forcing you from your thoughts and causing you to make the car swerve sharply. Luckily, the road wasn’t busy.

Your hand flew to your chest to ease your pounding heart. “What the hell Dean!” you yelled in a panic. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Well I could use the company, but no. I was trying to get your attention and you were lost in your own world. Not very safe when you’re behind the wheel, but who am I to judge?” Dean shrugged.

“You checked on Sam?” you asked him after a deep breath. Dean had been gone for a few hours, and you assumed that was where went.

“Yeah,” he said. “He just got up and is heading in to work.” According to Dean, Sam bounced around from town to town, working in random bars all across the country since his brother died. He’d been at his current job for a month now, and had somehow moved into a management position, despite his recent issues.

“What are you listening to?” Dean asked randomly, staring hard at the radio.

“This week’s top 10,” you told him. “Why? What’s with that look?” His brows were pinched in and his lips wore a slight pout, as if he were offended by something.

Dean looked away quickly. “Nothing.”

“Come on, spit it out. I know a look of disapproval when I see it.”

“How could such a cool chick have such a crappy taste in music?” he asked, suddenly bursting with energy.

“What’s wrong with this music?”

“Nothing,” he repeated. You waited for him to continue without even needing to prod. “It’s just not what I would listen to, that’s all.”

“Alright cool guy, what would you listen to then?” you asked him.

“I don’t know, AC/DC? Metallica? Led Zeppelin?”

“Old school rock?”

“ _Classic_ rock,” he declared, making a motion with his fist as if he were hitting a drum. You didn’t say so out loud, but is was nice to see him so passionate about something that didn’t have to do with death. 

“And that stuff is better than current music?” you continued, to keep the conversation going.

“That stuff is timeless,” he argued. “The kind of music that’s gonna stick around long after the artists are gone.” He tapered off and paused, staring out the window lost, in thought. “Its their legacy.”

He wasn’t just talking about music anymore, and his change in demeanor had you at a loss for words. Before you could say the first thing that came to mind, he snapped out of his trance and said, “Turn left here.”

You did as he said, and found yourself in the parking lot for a dive bar called ‘The Bulls Eye’. Surprisingly, there were quite a few cars in the lot for noon on a Thursday. One car in particular seemed to draw Dean’s attention.

“There she is,” he said gleefully, vanishing beside you and reappearing by an old, black, Chevy Impala.

You followed him on foot. “That’s yours, I presume?”

“My pride and joy,” Dean replied, a huge smile on his face. “Sam’s already here then. Time to get to work.” That nervous feeling was back, tenfold. Dean must have sensed your anxiety, because he followed up with, “Don’t worry, Y/N. I’ll be right here with you the whole time. We can do this.”

You simply nodded and made your way into the bar.


	5. Chapter 5

Inside was nothing special; there was a jukebox on one side of the room, tables and chairs were set up everywhere, the bar stood in the middle of the room, and everything seemed to be made of wood. It was easy to see why it was called ‘The Bull’s Eye’ though, as one side of the room was lined with about ten dartboards, running horizontally along the wall.

You passed the row of dartboards and continued to follow Dean, who was leading you to the bar. “Alright, Y/N, just do your thing.”

“My thing?! What does that even mean?” you hissed as quietly as you possibly could.

The conversation was interrupted when a man approached you from behind the counter of the bar. “What do you want?” he asked bluntly, rudely.

“What? Um…I…” you stammered, caught off guard. You normally wouldn’t react in such a way, but this man was intimidating in the way he stared you down. He was tall, even taller than Dean, and his height towered over you. Judging by his dull brown hair, scruffy face, and wrinkled flannel shirt, he had had a rough day. And night. And you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were making him even more pissed off just by being there.

The man crossed his arms in a sign of impatience. “To drink. What do you want to drink? Look lady, if you’re not going to order, move along.”

“Psssst!” Dean called for your attention. When you glanced over, he was jerking his head in the direction of the bartender’s retreating back. Your eyes widened in understanding and you took a deep breath before speaking.

“Hey,” you said to the bartender. When he reluctantly turned around you said, “I’ll have a Jack and coke. Make it a double.”

You got your drink a minute later and before the bartender could walk away again you asked, “You wouldn’t happen to know a Sam Winchester, by any chance, would you?”

If Dean was shocked by your sudden burst of fake confidence, he didn’t show it. The bartender, however, did. He watched you closely for a few seconds, seemingly grinding his teeth together. You simply stared back.

“No,” he finally replied. “I don’t.”

“Please, I need to talk to-”

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but you have no right coming into this bar and saying that name,” he practically growled at you, keeping his voice dangerously low so as not to alert any of the other patrons.

You risked a quick glance at Dean, who told you to keep talking. “I know you’re him,” you said quietly. “And I know what you used to do. I just…I’m in danger, and I need you help.”

He inched closer to you from over the bar. “No, you _think_ you know who I am, and you _think_ you know what I used to do. But you’re wrong. You know nothing.” His voice was lethal, but something deep inside of you whispered that there was no danger to be found here.

“Cry,” said Dean. You gave him a confused look. “Turn on the waterworks. Sam can’t resist a damsel in distress,” he instructed, eyes never wavering from his brother. Despite the short amount of time you had known him, you could tell by Dean's expression that he was disappointed in the harsh way Sam was treating you. So you did what he said. It took you a few seconds, but you were soon somehow able to force tears out of your eyes. You threw in some stammering and hiccups for an added flare.

“P-p-please, I’m d-desperate,” you sobbed, reaching for a tissue to dab your eyes with. “I’m..I’m all alone. Everyone I know is dead and…and I’m next.”

Sam’s large, imposing posture seemed to deflate a little bit.

“Please,” you sniffled one more time.

Sam let out a long, frustrated breath and ran his hands through his already disheveled hair. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“And you know about all the scary shit that’s out there, Y/N?”

You nodded vigorously.

“Look,” Sam sighed. “I don’t do that anymore, haven’t for a while now. Are you absolutely sure you’re in danger?”

“I’m positive. This monster that’s after me, its been trying to kill me for years. It killed my parents. It won’t stop until it gets me, or until I get it.”

“So you need a hunter?”

“I need a _good_ hunter,” you echoed Dean’s words from that first night. “And I hear you’re the best there is.”

Dean rolled his eyes at your praise in a dramatic fashion. “Yeah, he is _now_ , because the real best hunter isn’t in the game anymore,” he protested. It took all of your will power to keep yourself from smacking Dean through his intangible arm.

“I wouldn’t ask if I had any other choice,” you said softly, holding Sam’s stare with your own. When he closed his eyes and ran a hand down his face, you knew you had him.

“Okay, fine. I’ll help you,” he surrendered. “But you have to promise that you’ll let me handle this my way.”

“Why do you get to be in charge?” you asked, slightly annoyed. He simply stared at you with a brow raised and his scowl fixed in place. “Okay, deal.”

You extended a hand, and after a few moments of hesitation, he engulfed your hand with his own; and the two of you shook on it.

“Now that that’s out of the way, I need your help for one more thing,” you told him nervously.

“Ugh, what now?” he groaned, releasing your hand is if it stung him.

“I’m new in town, and I need a job,” you explained quickly. “I noticed you have a ‘Help Wanted’ sign out front…?”

“You ever waitressed before?” Sam asked.

“Yes.”

“Know how to open a beer bottle?”

“Of course.”

“How’s your aim?”

You weren’t sure you heard him right. “What?”

“Your aim? Could you, say, hit the bulls eye on a dart board?”

“What does that have to do with…”

Sam stood up straighter, to his full height, and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “This place revolves around two things - liquor and darts,” he ticked off on his fingers. “Don’t ask why, it just does. The better the staff here are at darts, the better they tend to get tipped by the drunk patrons. No sense in hiring you if you can’t mesh with the locals, so, can you hit a target?”

“Say yes,” Dean told you. When you hesitated he said, “Just say yes, Y/N.”

“Yes,” you answered Sam, rather loudly.

Sam’s scowl turned into a smirk - he knew you were bluffing. “Alright Y/N. Let’s see what you got.”

Sam set you up at a dartboard with three darts. He told you that if you could get two of them to any of the inner two circles, the job was yours. Then he excused himself for a minute when the cook called for his attention.

“I have terrible aim, Dean!” you proclaimed as soon as Sam was out of earshot.

Dean grinned at you. “No worries Y/N, I got this.”

“Oh, you got this?” you laughed sarcastically. “Wanna explain how, exactly?”

“I’m a ghost, remember? I can move things without touching them. I just need to focus.”

“Oh okay then. You’ve done this before?”

“Nope.”

Your jaw dropped. How was this possibly going to work? Before you could yell at Dean, Sam was back, and motioning for you to start. First dart in hand, you looked to Dean, who was staring on at the board. When he told you to throw it, you did. It hit the inner green circle.

You and Dean smiled broadly at each other. Sam didn’t react.

When you threw the second dart, with Dean controlling it’s direction again, it missed ever so slightly and hit the tip of a black triangle instead.

“A lot riding on this last one,” Sam remarked, coolly.

You picked the final dart up, and felt it’s weight in your palm. With one more look at Dean, you turned to the board, set yourself up as per Dean’s instructions, pulled your arm back, and let go.

The dart sailed straight and true, and hit the red bulls eye in the center of the board.

“Yes!” you exclaimed, jumping up and down in a sort of weird happy-dance, while Dean fist-pumped the air and yelled, “Yeah!”

Sam’s scowl was back in full force, and you wondered if it was a permanent fixture of his face. “Fine, you’re hired,” Sam grumbled, breezing past you towards the back of the bar. “Come on then, you may as well start your training now since you’re already here.”

As you followed the younger Winchester to the bar’s kitchen, you shot a worried glance at Dean, who merely gave you a crooked grin and a thumbs up. 

This was going to be harder than you had anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of part 1! More should be coming eventually. Thanks for reading :)


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